The screen was empty, the caller’s private number message now gone. He sighed, steepled his fingers to his lips and blew through them as he attempted to gather his thoughts.
He was back at Old Queen Street. The flat was taped off with a local team on site, a Scenes of Crime Officer was examining every surface that might hold a fingerprint. A cheap-suited detective sergeant was pointing out evidence and directing junior staff. For all intents it resembled the hypothetical scene from a televised crime drama, just requiring a distant voice to shout ‘cut!’ and bring everyone back to a sense of normality.
Cade was met by Roberts.
“Jack, what the Jesus and Mary are you doing back here? What about Carrie? Jack?”
“I’ve had this from JD mate. Just realise I need to do something. I can’t sit in there and stare at her lifeless body for another second. Her skin was grey. No amount of frenzied hand rubbing and compassionate words are going to bring her around Jason. We both know that. So let’s focus on the here and now shall we?”
Roberts sensed the futility of arguing the point and suggested they double up to search for their target.
“Let’s not forget this bastard might still be armed,” Cade offered to anyone that might listen. “Any doubt. Any whatsoever and we wait for armed back up, do I make myself clear? We’ve done enough damage for one night. Right, pair up and let’s throw that net over this noble city shall we?”
Cade’s team were joined by a sergeant and four constables, a local dog unit and the promise of air support. More staff were on the way. Roberts’ team of detectives were already mobilised, combining old-fashioned policing with its more modern brother – CCTV. It was everywhere, but you needed to know how to interrogate it and these officers were expert at it.
“You can drive Jason. Valentin stated that he believes our man is somewhere nearby so we work in eccentric circles. I suggest we let the uniform boys and girls patrol and we park up and watch and listen. Sooner or later he’s got to break cover. And when he does the might of my adopted police force will pounce on the bastard. I so hope he puts up a fight.”
Constantin had been still for an hour. He was in agony. His feet ached, his body throbbed, his headache was pulverising his ability to think. The heroin hit had long worn off. He needed more, but he knew that to break cover whilst the police activity was so dynamic was tantamount to surrender.
They were everywhere. Look at them, they hadn’t got a clue, not even their dog could find him. And Cade and his sidekick boyfriend? They were pathetic. He could have outwitted them when he was just a boy back in Craiova, back in the motherland, back home.
“When I escape from you tonight, it will be the start of my retaliation. My chance to look you both in the eye and smile as I drive the knife through your heart. Your girlfriend is already dead, and that was all my pleasure. I will kill you both in a different way. Yes. Different. More violent.” His conversations were becoming more animated by the second.
“The girl? I put her to sleep. You? I will make sure you never sleep again.”
He became aware he was talking to himself once more. Scratching his itching limbs, his body involuntarily jolting.
“Go. No, stay.” His senses were heightened allowing him to see and hear with greater clarity.
“Go.”
Cade was sat with Roberts. They were sharing a bar of chocolate. The sugar hit was desperately needed by Cade who had realised he hadn’t eaten – at all, since, actually he couldn’t recall but it had been a lengthy amount of time.
“Jas we need to focus on this group. Constantin is one man, and he is manipulating our numbers, we have to remember that there is a bigger group out there, stripping ATMs bare as we speak. We need JD to push this issue up the food chain.”
The issue of food was also making Roberts intensely hungry.
“McDonald’s, Jack?”
“Seriously? You think I’m in the mood for a bloody Happy Meal, Jason?”
Roberts looked hurt.
“No, I just thought you might be hungry. Just a gesture of human kindness.”
Cade realised his response was unfair, they were all tired.
“Is there one nearby?”
“There is.”
“Then I’ll pay. I hear that the toy is a Buzz Lightyear this week.”
“Twat.”
“You started it!”
For the first time in weeks they laughed, the adrenaline was abating and for a change serotonin flooded their inner selves. Roberts drove along Victoria Street and parked directly outside the iconic fast-food outlet. Anyone who had a problem with them doing so could take it up with the Commissioner.
Roberts clipped his personal radio to his belt, activated the vehicle remote and walked into the always-busy restaurant and straight to the front of the queue.
“Big Mac please my love. No, make that a McBean burger combo and my friend here would like the Buzz Lightyear Happy Meal with extra large fries, a dozen chicken nuggets and a McDonald’s cola. Thank you.”
Cade was in no mood to argue.
“McBean?”
“Oh yes, I forgot to tell you, from this day I have become a vegetarian. No meat shall pass these lips ever again.”
“Why?”
“Why not? Have you chewed any ears other than mine lately? No? Well I have and even the thought makes me heave”
Again, he did not have the energy to argue.
By the time they had discussed Roberts’ new health regime their food was on the counter. Roberts attempted to pay for it but was recognised by the manager.
“This one’s on me Jason, even the Buzz Lightyear – you boys looked absolutely knackered!”
They began to walk out of the store when Cade saw a young boy enter with his mother. His whiter-than-white eyes stood out from his conker-brown skin as he recognised the toy being offered to him.
“There you go young man. My friend here has Buzz already. He was hoping for a Woody tonight as he hasn’t had one for a very long time.” Cade patted him on the head and walked to the car sinking his teeth into the quintessential chicken.
“I hate you Jason.”
Getting into the driver’s seat Roberts laughed and offered him some of his vegetarian meal.
“I’d rather sleep with Lucy Thomas.”
“Noted boss. I’ll arrange it – she loves fresh meat.”
Constantin decided he could wait no longer. He had to leave the area. He could almost smell the dogs closing in. He knew if he climbed up the building he might evade them. But that took strength and it was something he was lacking. He exited as nonchalantly as he could from the gated area of the stone-balustrade walls and began to walk towards Great George Street.
He turned right, desperately trying not to look behind him, head down in a city of head-down people, not really knowing where to go. He had seen a tube station on his travels. He would go there. Safely on board he would allow the train to take him away from the hunters and then ring Gheorghiu. As much as he hated him, Artur Gheorghiu was the only ally he had in a city that was crawling with adversaries.
And once he got close to him, he could wipe the smile of his face too.
Cade was contemplating his nuggets when the radio announced its presence.
It was a breathless section constable trying his best to run and provide a commentary.
“Parliament Square Gardens towards the river…”
Cade threw the fast food out of the passenger window.
“Go Jason, go! It’s got to be our man.”
Roberts was already accelerating along Victoria Street whipping in and out of traffic, sirens on, strobe lights rebounding from vehicles and buildings alike.
The radio had come to life as it always did during a chase. Everyone, everywhere, wanted a piece of the action. The Comms operator struggled to maintain control as uniformed and non-uniformed staff jostled for airtime. The local dog handler was also trying to attain air supremacy. The problem for him being that with the amount
of foot traffic still present on the streets he could never freely deploy his jet-black German Shepherd Zeus.
“Through the gardens, still towards Big Ben. Male…short hair, dark clothes…small backpack.”
The officer was almost gasping. He was, always, at a disadvantage. The hunter tracking the hunted but carrying twice as much weight and up against a prey that was drowning in adrenaline.
“Over Parliament towards Westminster.”
The Comms Operator repeated the directions for all to hear. Waving to the duty inspector with one hand and typing with another.
Staff were focusing upon the area, moving in from areas across the region. Two ARV teams were also en route.
Cade and Roberts were now on the hunt as well. Most of the pursuers wanted the arrest, the ‘collar’, for the two more senior men it was a very personal matter of putting the animal back into its cage.
“Stand by, into foot traffic, tour group, heading to the Houses of Parliament.”
“Do not lose him!” It was Cade, talking to no one in particular but to everyone involved.
It was easy to forget that regardless of the time of day this was one of the busiest cities on the planet. There was always someone, going somewhere.
As Roberts pulled onto The Queen’s Walk he could see the problem. People.
People going about their business, people going to and from their businesses, and tourists. Hundreds of tourists. Did they not have hotels to go to?
Constantin was exhausted, but he knew that to stop now was to give in. He needed to walk, not run, to blend in. They wanted him for at least one murder, possibly two. And then there was the girl. And the banks. With a well-funded lawyer he might even be acquitted. His mind was trying to process too many things at once.
And the gun. There was the issue of the old handgun. He could feel it near to his ribs, tucked up inside his jacket pocket. The same one he had used to kill Gabor.
He chose to retain it. He knew he could not take on such a well-equipped enemy, even a cowardly one like the British with their rules. As soon as possible he should discard the weapon. But where? A bin?
There were no bins, a legacy of historical anti-terrorism measures which saw the streets of London largely stripped of such facilities. He had to remove himself from the chase and dispose of as much evidence as his fatigued mind would allow him to. As he half-ran, half-walked he saw the opportunity. There, opposite one of the city’s most recognisable landmarks was his escape route. He could hear footsteps, running, at a faster pace than those of the tourists that provided him with basic cover. They were closing in now.
The wolf into the bear trap.
Chapter Eighteen
His lungs hurt more than his head, his legs were leaden but still providing forward momentum. He needed to stop. He had to stop. Just give up.
He didn’t have enough energy left to run another step but worse still he knew he couldn’t afford to spend another day in prison. This time it would be the death of him.
He thought of firing the gun into the air. It would provide a distraction in a city already on edge. But he knew it would draw immediate attention to his presence and he would become a target.
He had seen how they had gunned down his innocent friends.
He carried on, shuffling through the crowd, but strangely, part of it. No one raised an eyebrow at the sight of the broken, manic individual that he had become. No one cared where he was heading, as long as he was heading the same way and didn’t impede upon their own self-satisfied journeys he would be ignored.
Fifty metres ahead he saw a cleaner pushing a trolley upon which was attached a large rubbish sack. As he approached, he withdrew the weapon.
Streets away a camera operator was watching the live feed from the Westminster underground station. An hour into his shift he was still vigilant. He had waited a year to be a part of something different to the day-to-day hustle and bustle of commuter-based chaos. Something other than lost children, pickpockets, prostitutes and passengers seeking to obtain another free ride.
And there it was.
“A man with a gun…”
No one heard him at first. He wasn’t entirely sure if he had said it aloud but he said it again and this time he attracted attention.
“He’s got a gun. The guy there, near to the barrier, to the left.” He was pointing animatedly at the screen, his right index finger pushing into the soft coating and forcing the image to distort.
His duty manager appeared on a high-backed typist chair, rolling himself across the office floor at high speed.
“Move! And if this is another passenger with a cell phone I will personally march you out of the building and kick your arse with my size tens.”
But he was right. Immediately in front of them, tangible, apparent and two-dimensional was a male who stood out from the crowd for one reason. In his left hand was a firearm, an older-looking pistol, but a firearm nonetheless.
Constantin had no real desire to shoot. He’d killed already. His exhausted mind concluded that a neutral onlooker might even forgive him for another one, or two deaths. Honestly, what difference would it really make? For a brief moment, he felt that he could genuinely be acquitted of the second murder, he might say it was a simple case of self-defence and that he somehow feared for his own life, at the hands of a person a good defence lawyer would later say was evil, goal-driven and the true architect of the operation.
‘Do not be fooled by the young man. He was a brilliant tactician, wise beyond his years. Do you really think a washed-up heroin addict like my client could be so cunning – as to kill a harmless old man?’
He could hear his defence lawyer now, skilfully swaying the jury, convincing them that his client would have committed only a crime of self-defence, of passion. He would argue that he would have only ever killed for the chance to possess a sound mind.
‘There were no witnesses to the passing of the old man. He lived alone, and he died alone. It was an accident. You must see that this could have happened to anyone, at any time…’
Internal monologues aside he knew that if he started shooting innocent members of the public in a crowded train station, he would be labelled a psychopath, a cold-hearted killer – a terrorist – in a fragile nation, perched precariously on the edge of its collective seat, poised at the highest security threat level in years.
His mind spun; between creating a loud and defiant distraction and disposing of the weapon, it spun and twisted and replayed over and over. The rational partition of his brain told him to drop the gun into the trolley, to ignore the looping footage in his mind.
Another robotic and spontaneous feature of his past saw his left hand slipping into the jacket pocket of the male immediately in front of him. It was the unemotional aspect of the transaction that made it imperceptible to the victim who was oblivious to his gossamer touch.
Caring but in an uncaring world the victim strode on towards the turnstiles, desperate to get home. Resorting to muscle memory his right hand moved into the unzipped pocket where for a moment he swore his wallet had been. It had gone. But hang on, where? He had only used it minutes before. He searched once again tapping outer pockets, searching inside each, again, and again.
In a heartbeat it had vanished. In another he realised how.
He saw police officers, more than usual, but that was London for you. Picking one from the crowd he called out.
“Excuse me!”
It was the last thing the young officer needed. Couldn’t this irritant see he was on the hunt?
Without being so unprofessional as to push the victim out of the way the constable suggested, rather forcibly, that the male should report the matter to his nearest station and that for now, ‘sir, things were a little busy with something more important’.
If he had taken just a moment to talk to the victim, he may have learned something that later would save countless hours.
“But I have been robbed.”
“It’s not a robbery
– just simple theft sir, probably kids. Seriously, report it to your home station and let the banks know, the thieves are probably in the process of handing out your bank cards as we speak…I had my credit card stolen last month. I didn’t report it as the thief was spending less than my wife…”
The victim raised his hands in the air and shouted at the rapidly vanishing officer.
“You think that’s funny? Really? I hope… I hope you get chlamydia!” Exasperated he pushed his way back through the crowds.
Two suited males came towards him at a pace. He sensed that they were also police officers but thought better of stopping the blue-eyed one. He looked as if he wanted to kill someone.
“Yeah, don’t mind me. I’m just the bloody victim!” The male called out to Cade who brushed him aside but then stopped in his tracks.
He beckoned to the male.
“Come here – please.”
“Oh, a member of the judiciary with some manners at last.” Either that or he was about to cause him some immediate physical harm.
“Sir, I am beyond busy right at this moment. Do you want my help – or not?”
The male, sensing an opportunity to tell his tale of woe side-stepped the crowds and regaled Cade with his story.
Constantin examined the contents of the wallet on the move. His street craft had not eluded him, despite his shattered mental state. A rapid search of the contents revealed enough items to get him away from the area and, as he felt intensely hungry for the first time in days, if luck was on his side there may just be enough cash to buy a meal.
He swiped the Oyster card over the turnstile and was quickly heading deeper into the station, down the escalators and towards the trains. He could hear them approaching and felt the rush of air as they arrived and departed into the crowded platforms.
Above ground officers pushed their way into the station, trying their best to be as discreet as possible, aware that their own panic could instil a stampede of sorts. Uniformed police staff familiar with the building made their way to common areas, looking for a male roughly fitting the ambiguous description passed to them by their colleague.
Seven Degress (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 2) Page 26